


ready for you whenever you want to begin

by tryalittlejoytomorrow



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: (IN THEORY), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Case Fic, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Partners to Lovers, Post-Season/Series 03, Romance, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-15 05:06:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15405624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryalittlejoytomorrow/pseuds/tryalittlejoytomorrow
Summary: It'd become both a running gag and bet now, how long it would take Phryne and Jack to hook up (a year and two months and three days, and Phryne was almost certain nobody had gotten the exact timeline right) or when she'd join the Academy and become a real officer of the law (never).--Phryne and Jack still love uncovering the truth...and each other. Not particularly in that order.





	ready for you whenever you want to begin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [effie214](https://archiveofourown.org/users/effie214/gifts).



> this story was born out of the sheer need to have these two smooch, the rest was history.
> 
> title from Florence + the Machine's 'Hiding'.

Her apartment building came in with a lot of advantages: a great community space, a gym and a pool, and the nicest gentlemen at the front desk who never said a thing about her coming and going at ungodly hours in yesterday's party clothes, no matter how many times that happened a week.

The one thing that could do with an upgrade, though? The creaking hiss that sounded like the devil grinding his teeth when she opened her front door, alerting Dottie to her presence in a nanosecond. It came in handy whenever someone tried to break in - and it happened quite a lot, too, in her line of work - but it was a dead giveaway any other time.

"Oh, Miss Fisher, you're here!" her secretary and associate called out from her desk with a bright tone that was far too loud and bubbly before eight in the morning. Phryne reckoned her friend was still suffering from _newly-weditis_ , more than it had anything to do with the job. "The coffee is hot, and I made muffins."

Phryne chuckled softly to herself. Only Dottie would be up and at work before the start of office hours, and manage to bake fresh pastries and look like a Disney princess. She hung her coat and purse on the rack and made her way inside, snatching a muffin from the basket on Dottie's desk. "What's gotten you in such a good mood, Mrs. Collins?" she teased her as she perched herself at the edge of the desk.

Dottie blushed a pretty pink, hiding behind her cup of tea as she took a careful sip. "Nothing," she denied with a shake of her head. "Neither my mother nor Hugh's have called this week to enquire if there's any grandbaby on the way yet, so here's to that."

Phryne rolled her eyes, before jumping off the desk. "I'll drink to _that_ ," she said, and got herself a cup of coffee. "I'm not ready to lose you yet. Jack would _never_ let us hang around a crime scene with a baby."

" _I_ would never let my baby hang around a crime scene," Dot grumbled. The phone rang, and her wince smoothed into a polite smile, as if the person on the other end of the line could see her, bless her. "Miss Fisher's Office," she answered. "Oh, hello Detective Inspector. Yes, she's there. Yes, I'll ask her." Dot started to lower the phone, but Phryne gestured for her to pick it up again with a distracted wave of her hand. "Yes, Miss Fisher's available," Dot added quickly.

There were another couple of _mmhs_ and _yes, sir_ , from Dot, before she hung up. "There's been a murder at the museum. Detective Inspector Robinson would like your help on the case."

" _Our_ help," Phryne corrected absently, before running a hand over her tired eyes. "God, at the museum, you say? Such a lovely place. People can be so distasteful." Dottie's eyes widened, and she amended, "I mean, murder is a distasteful thing in itself, obviously."

Dot rolled her eyes. "Obviously. The inspector said he's tried to reach you on your cell phone first."

Phryne palmed the pocket of her jeans, and fished out her cell phone. "Battery's dead," she frowned, then beamed as Dot immediately handed her a backup battery. "You're a life savior. Come on then, Dorothy, time to put on your red, detective slippers. You mind driving so I can catch up with Jack's updates?"

Dottie gave her a long, meaningful look that Phryne chose to ignore, grabbing the basket of muffins (partly because she had skipped breakfast and was starving, partly to hear Jack's nagging about _damn crumbs on his crime scene_ ) and her things with her free hand as she listened to the voicemail Jack had left her - a very professional voicemail, complete with a _Miss Fisher_ at the beginning and a _please, thank you, Miss_ , at the end.

The unread text messages he'd sent were...the _tiniest_ bit more personal.

_Jack_

_6.55am_

_You stole my shirt, didn't you?_

_Jack_

_6.58am_

_Not that I mind, but Collins saw me with that shirt yesterday. Not that he'll remember, but his wife has a keener eye._

_Jack_

_7.05am_

_I found your blouse hanging around the lamp. I'm not washing it, so you need to come back and fetch it._

Phryne had to bite her bottom lip not to grin. The wine stain on her white blouse had been the least of her worries the night before, not when Jack had been so eager to help her remove it, nor when he'd made her forget all about the ruined, expensive silk with his talented hands. She was just as ruined with him, anyway.

The theft of his shirt had thus seemed inevitable.

Dottie leaned against the wall of the elevator and played with Phryne's car keys, looking like she was fighting off a grin of her own. "So where have you been all night? Doesn't look like your usual party clothes," she asked cheekily.

Phryne was impressed. There had been a time when Dot had blushed fiercely whenever she'd come across one of Phryne's night companions, and now here she was, sassy and sneaky as all hell. "Well," Phryne started, and focused her gaze on the too long sleeves of the shirt that she rolled up past her elbows, "I did not plan on staying overnight, I had to improvise. Besides, I'm trying out this new look. French tuck, skinny jeans, you know?"

Dot's eyes traveled from head to toe, seemingly giving her outfit her approval. But then her gaze landed on the collar of the shirt, and she all but _smirked_. "You might want to cover that up a little bit," she said, stroking the fabric of her own collar between two fingers. Phryne looked down at her own, and spotted the print of bright, red lipstick. _Hers_.

Phryne busied herself with wrapping her scarf tighter around her neck as they exited the elevator and Dottie drove them off to the museum. She reread Jack's messages and, failing to find anything witty to respond, left them unanswered; instead she replayed his voicemail on speaker for Dottie to hear.

The drive to the museum was short, and they were both given access easily, considering how many times they'd collaborated with the City South Police. It'd become both a running gag and bet now, how long it would take Phryne and Jack to hook up ( _a year and two months and three days_ , and Phryne was _almost_ certain nobody had gotten the exact timeline right) or when she'd join the Academy and become a real officer of the law ( _never_ ).

Jack and Hugh were waiting for them in the science ward, the body of a woman crushed under the skeleton of a dinosaur. "What about woman inherits the earth?" Phryne lamented. She handed Dottie the basket of muffins as she came nearer and crouched down to get a better look.

"I'm pretty sure we can rule out the dinosaur from the list of suspects," Jack said, deadpan as always. She felt his presence as he stood beside her, then his heat as he lowered himself too and his knee bumped against hers. "Martha Jones, thirty-seven. She's been a lecturer for the past four years. She was considered for the position of head of the science department."

"At thirty-seven? Sounds fake considering how old the dinosaurs on the council are, but okay."

"Even old dinosaurs know that this is the twenty-first century and that promoting women in science is a good way to collect funds and sympathy."

"Now you just depress me, Jack," Phryne sighed, using his shoulder as leverage to push herself up. She did not miss the way his eyes lingered on her cleavage, the top two buttons of her - his - shirt unbuttoned and allowing a glimpse of the lacy bra she wore under. Jack swallowed, hard, his lips pressed into a tight, thin line.

Perhaps she was being a little mean, but Phryne nonetheless enjoyed the effect she had on him. It wasn't like she was totally immune to him, either, with his perfectly tailored suits and the way he always looked so proper when she had first-hand knowledge of how good his hair looked when she mussed it up with her fingers, or how very improper he _could_ act sometimes.

Jack quickly recovered, though, and followed her suit. "There are three other candidates for the head position. They won't be very inclined to talk to us, though, and -"

"And you thought I could ask my aunt to meddle a little bit," she finished for him.

Jack shrugged. "I mean, like aunt like niece, right? It seems to me like meddling is what you Fisher-Stanleys like to do best."

Phryne narrowed her eyes at him for a minute before she shrugged and laughed. "Perhaps, Inspector Robinson. Perhaps. But never before breakfast. Dot," she called out, interrupting a very intense session of heart-eyes between her young friend and her husband over shared notes. "I need sugar. It's muffin time."

"Muffin?" Jack echoed, confused. " _Phryne_. What did I tell you about no breakfast on my crime scenes?"

Phryne grabbed the muffin Dot was handing her, and her friend's arm, pulling Dottie with her on their way out. " _Our_ crime scene. We really need to talk about all these rules of yours, Jack," she called over her shoulder with a wink to him. Beside him Hugh had the decency not to laugh, or maybe he was just sad to see the basket of goods go, and his darling wife in the process.

Anyway. If she had to go and ask a favor from Aunt Prudence, she needed them all.

 

* * *

 

Phryne dropped the basket of muffins atop the counter at the front desk of the City South Police station later that day and rang the bell, startling Hugh who was filing some paperwork in his new, nearby office. "Miss Fisher," he greeted, eyeing the basket with a greedy gaze.

"Senior Constable Collins. You know you don't have to call me Miss Fisher just because the Inspector does," she smiled, almost coy. "Here, have a muffin. It's snack time."

"Grown men don't get snacks," Jack's voice reached them from his office.

Phryne shook her head. "Don't mind him, Hugh," she fake-whispered. "He gets grumpy when he's sugar-deprived." She gave him the folder she'd brought for him, and unfolded a napkin and picked a couple of muffins, leaving the rest to Hugh. "Dottie's cross-referenced all the info we got on our three potential suspects. You take care of that while I take care of that one," she added with a tilt of her head to Jack's door.

She found him surrounded by tons of papers and pictures of the crime scene, and a still-wrapped sandwich forgotten on one corner of his desk. Jack didn't even lift his head as she came in and closed the door behind her. Phryne unceremoniously pushed aside all the mess and perched herself before him, her legs dangling distractingly in his peripheral vision.

His hand shot out and rested on her knee, stilling her movement. "Well, hello, Miss Fisher," he said, sounding half-amused, half-annoyed. When he looked up and his eyes found hers, Phryne saw that his annoyance was only for show. "Please do come in. How can I be of service to you today?"

"You're cranky," Phryne noted, pushing a muffin in front of him before she took his hand in hers and twined their fingers, resting them higher on her thigh. She gave his fingers a squeeze, fluttering her lashes at Jack until he cracked the slightest smile. "There you go. Eat. Be less cranky and more charming."

Jack ran his thumb along the seam of her jeans and looked at her from beneath his lashes, the unoriginal copycat. "I'm charming?" he teased, his tone just a tad deeper than usual.

Phryne tried to glare at him, but the effect was ruined by the shiver than ran through her as Jack started smoothing tighter circles on her inner thigh. "Shut up. Eat. Tell me why you're mad at me."

Jack sighed and retrieved his hand from her grip, and Phryne realized instantly that she'd chosen the wrong tactic with him. The last time Jack had been all closed off and broody she'd made the mistake to try and be as bubbly and carefree as she could be, and he'd almost broken off their partnership for fear of losing her. "I'm not mad," he said as he took a bite of the chocolate-filled muffin. "I'm working, I don't have time to be mad." He engulfed the muffin in quick bites, then grabbed another one. Phryne wordlessly pushed his sandwich towards him, and he devoured that too. "You know, I wouldn't have minded some coffee and muffins in bed this morning."

Phryne resisted the urge to tell him that it was Dottie who'd baked, or to remind him that she possessed no skill whatsoever in the kitchen - that wasn't the point. Slowly she extended a leg and hooked her foot in the arm of Jack's chair, pulling until it rolled towards her; Jack took a hold of her calf, his free hand running up her other leg and resting on her knee. His gaze bore through her again, and he waited.

The ball was in her court. And Phryne hoped that all the qualities that made her a good tennis player - strategy, precision, foresight - would help her ace this now.

"I shouldn't have run away like that," she admitted softly. "I'm just not very good at..." She gestured wildly between them, and Jack cocked an eyebrow. "You know what I mean. Birds don't sing with me or dress me in the morning like they do with Dot. I'm not that kind of woman."

"I know," Jack said. "I'm not asking you to be."

"I don't do breakfast," she went on, "I don't do more than just the night. I don't know how. But..." Phryne let out a heavy breath, her hands going to her hair, nervously pulling at the strands of her now messy bob. "Last night was great, okay? And all the other nights. I need you to know that."

She cupped his face then, her fingers brushing the hair at the nape of his neck. The height difference made the angle odd, and Phryne almost lost her balance; Jack steadied her and slowly, gently, his hands tugged at her hips until she slipped from the desk and right onto his lap, her knees bracketing his own in an impossibly tight hold. "Great, yeah?" he murmured huskily. "But?"

Phryne let her hands fall from his jaw;  one at his shoulder, the other playing with his tie. They were so close that when she sighed again it pushed her chest against his, and Jack's hand at her hip tightened instantly. "Talking is not my forte, okay?" she finally said. "I don't know what this is, and it...I let myself fall asleep with you and when I woke up in your bed it scared me, and I took the easy way out. I'm sorry about that."

Jack nodded, understanding. Sometimes it was a blessing, how much he understood her, and yet in cases like this, it could also make her feel stupid; they weren't teenagers anymore and the man had been married for fifteen years for God's sake, and she'd run away from him like a murderer fleeing a crime scene when Jack's sole crime had been to _cuddle_ her in bed.

"Listen," Jack started, bringing her back to focus, to the heat of his hands on her hips seeping through the fabric of her shirt, to the gentleness of his fingers as they started drawing circles at her back. Phryne forced herself to meet his eyes, and damn if they weren't going to be her downfall someday. "I know you're very attached to your uncomplicated, unlabelled relationships and that's fine. But I'm very attached to the concept of saying goodbye before running away from my bed, so..."

She laughed, too loud for a police station, and then Phryne laughed even harder as she looked down at Jack and the position they were in, with her straddling him, their ongoing case completely forgotten. She felt Jack's confusion as she leaned in and kissed him, the frown between his brow melting as his lips curled into a smile against her own. He tasted like coffee gone cold and chocolate, and unlike this morning when the familiarity of it had suffocated her she relished in it now, unable to get enough of him, propriety and work ethics be damned.

She took his bottom lip between her teeth and bit gently, and swallowed Jack's groan in her mouth. His touch grew more urgent, his hands slipping past the barrier of fabric to stroke skin, leaving her hot and bothered as they trailed a burning path up her back, her sides, brushing against her breasts. Phryne broke the kiss then, panting hard against Jack's neck. "This...this is bordering on _very complicated_ territory."

Jack's deep chuckle reverberated against her temple. "I might have to give myself some kind of disciplinary sanction," he conceded, yet did not withdraw his hands from her. "But you have to admit that the way you look in that shirt should be outlawed."

"Caveman," Phryne chided against his mouth, her lips seeking his. It came out all breathy as her reprimand turned into a moan as one of Jack's palm snaked at her back, spreading wide and pressing her closer as his other hand toyed at her breast, softly kneading the flesh. " _Jack_..."

Jack yanked her mouth down to his, deepening the kiss, hot and urgent where it'd been playful just a moment ago. A swirl of heat pooled low in her belly, coiling tight as she rocked involuntarily against the hardening bulge in his groin.

"Inspector?" Hugh called out, knocking on the door.

Both she and Jack froze, and Phryne was certain that her eyes had to mirror the tortured look in Jack's gaze. He swore under his breath and untangled his hands from her, and she all but jumped off his lap and leaned over the desk, pretending to study a picture from the crime scene. They made a ridiculous picture, the two of them, swollen lips and mussed hair and flushed skin, the fabric of Jack's always immaculate shirt completely creased under her wandering fingers.

Jack ran a hand through his hair and cleared his throat. "Come in."

Hugh entered the room, averting his eyes. Phryne gave Jack a side look, and had to resist the urge to laugh at the forced, serious expression on his face. "I was just checking Miss Jones' finances, sir, and it seems like she's been living way above her pay grade for the past six months. Dottie's notes mention an altercation with the museum's director sometime before that mysterious change of lifestyle."

"Nice work, Collins and Collins," Jack nodded, flicking through the folder Hugh had just handed him. "Do we know what this argument was about?"

Hugh shook his head. "No, sir. But Martha Jones entered the official list for the position of Head of Department roughly four months ago, when no one before that seemed to even contemplate the idea of having her."

Phryne sighed, crossing her arms above her chest as she leaned her hip against Jack's desk. "Old, white men. Do you know how long it took for Mac to get her teaching position at the university? She was the only woman graduating from med school in her year."

Jack let out a sigh, too, then shrugged. "Look, Miss Fisher, I'd like nothing better than to avenge womankind by arresting these misogynistic idiots, but I'm going to need a lot more evidence to build a case." He put back together all the papers Hugh had given him, and handed them back to the younger detective. "Prepare the interviews, Collins. You're taking the lead on this one."

Hugh's eyes grew wide, a _for real?_ expression stitched across his features. "Thank you, sir," he managed to say without blabbering, then took his leave with a big smile curling at his mouth.

Phryne smiled softly as she watched him leave. "You just gave him the best Christmas present ever."

Jack laughed. "Yeah, I don't know how I'm going to top that when Christmas actually comes. He's good," he added, serious, and a little soft at the same time, "and he needs a little boost to his self-confidence. You and Mrs. Collins are more than welcome to join, of course."

"Mmh, I don't know," Phryne said, tapping a lone finger against her lips. "I think I have other urgent matters to attend," she smirked as she leaned down and brushed her mouth against his.

Jack sighed in her mouth, defeated and triumphant both as he dragged his fingertips along her jawline, then down her neck, to finally twine in her hair, her neat bob now completely tousled. He sucked her lower lip into his mouth, sliding his tongue across it, the wet heat of it sending another spark down Phryne's spine. Her fingers curled around his shoulder to anchor herself, and she brought her knee up to his lap, ready to resume their earlier activities when Jack pulled back a little.

"Not now," he said, his hoarse tone doing nothing to help Phryne _stop_. "We've got a murder to solve, remember? Don't pout like that," he warned, and curled his hand around her chin. "It doesn't work."

"You sure about that?" Phryne asked, never breaking eye contact as she lowered the hand at his shoulder down his torso, his stomach, to cup him through his pants.

Jack hissed at her touch, yet his hand was gentle but firm as he took hold of her own mischievous one and removed it. "Not now," he repeated. "But tonight? Dinner at my place, and breakfast tomorrow?"

He sounded hopeful, and the visual of hours on end in Jack Robinson's bed did allure to her more than it frightened her, which was scary in and out of itself, but now wasn't the time to dwell on it, not when Jack looked at her with those eyes, not when saying _no_ meant denying herself. "Okay, fine," Phryne relented with an exaggerated pout. "But it's gonna be a long, long time 'till then, and it's gonna be much harder than you think," she added with a lecherous wink, her eyes travelling down to his groin.

Jack rolled his eyes. "Believe me, I _know_. Come on, away with you, so I can work."

He gave her ass a light tap to send her off and Phryne jumped off, placing a hand over her heart in faux-indignation. "Oh my, Detective Inspector Jack Robinson," she clucked her tongue and tsked, "I'll go and solve that murder then, if you must insist."

She shimmied her hips on purpose on her way out, and laughed in her hand at the way Jack looked as he laid his head against the back of his chair and closed his eyes, totally and utterly _ravished_.

 

* * *

 

On a theoretical level, Phryne knew that her wardrobe was pretty impressive and that she was lucky to be acquainted with a lot of promising and talented fashion icons who regularly invited her to fashion shows and sent her beautiful pieces. Facing her open closet now, a dozen different outfits laid out over her bed and the armchair in the corner of her room, she realized she simply had _nothing_ to wear.

"I'd go with that green dress you have, with the pearls," Dot said, peeking her head inside her bedroom. She had her coat and her purse on, ready to leave for the night. "The inspector does seem to like it a lot."

Their eyes locked in Phryne's full-lenght mirror, Dot's filled with mischief. "Dorothy Collins!" Phryne exclaimed, putting her hands on her hips as she turned to face her friend. "You have become too good of a detective. How long have you known?"

Dot shrugged her shoulder, grinning a soft smile. "Well, I've been collecting evidence for quite some time now. There have been lingering looks and touches," she counted on her fingers, "numerous occasions for the inspector to show longing and jealousy, a lot of flirting on both parties involved. And, well, of course, there's the case of the disappearance of both Hugh and mine's best man and maid of honor during our wedding reception, a time that is still unaccounted for to this day."

"And that time will remain so," Phryne laughed, biting on the inside of her cheek as she reminisced those stolen moments between Jack and her at Dot and Hugh's wedding two months ago, perhaps not the beginning of everything but the beginning of _something_. The tear in her gown had been a shame, but definitely _worth it_. "A little mystery is the spice of life."

Dot smiled. "I thought _variety_ was the spice of life."

"Well," Phryne shrugged, acting more nonchalant than she felt. "Been there, done that. I've done more than enough variety for a lifetime."

"So mystery it is?" Dot asked softly. "Well, if you want to maintain some sort of secrecy, you should probably avoid making-out with the inspector in his office," she went on teasing, and as Phryne's eyes went round, Dot blushed. "The walls are pretty thin, and Hugh...Well, anyway, I'm happy for you," she rambled, giving her a smile and uselessly rewrapping her scarf tighter around her neck. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Phryne nodded her head, half-mortified, even more so as she imagined how Jack would react if he knew. As Dot walked out of her bedroom, she called out, "Dot! Don't bother being early, or even on time tomorrow, okay?"

She heard her younger friend laugh, then the sound of the front door closing behind her, and Phryne was left alone with the impossible task of finding the perfect outfit for a casual dinner with the man she had the _least_ casual relationship with. What did one wear for that kind of commitment? She let out a long, frustrated sigh, and fell back on her bed. Her fingers toyed with the hem of Jack's shirt, the plain cotton worn and soft under her fingertips, familiar and comfortable all at once like he'd been ever since the day she'd met him.

"You goddamn fool," Phryne murmured to herself.

 

* * *

 

Jack's apartment never ceased to amaze her.

The man himself seemed hell-bent on defying all of her expectations: Phryne _hadn't_ expected him to be a Shakespeare fan or to waltz like a pro or to have sided with his coworkers during the police strike a few years ago. When she first met him she'd thought she had him all figured out: a serious man with a perfect police and military record, a charming, coy smile, and nothing more.

 _Fuck if she'd been wrong_.

Jack was a serious man, all right. He liked his whiskey neat at the end of a long day, didn't suffer fools very well - even though he'd learned to be more tolerant since meeting her - and was the kind of man who did not rest until the job was done, and well done with that. But she'd come to realize that like anybody else he had layers, edges, and that what she'd once seen as plain and boring, just another stoic, masculine archetype, now felt like home; like the reading nook he'd carved himself into the huge window in his living-room, flanked by enormous bookshelves, or the fact that the man could cook even though he rarely indulged while on his own. His apartment was warm and inviting, perhaps the last words that Phryne would have used to describe him around a year and three months ago when their paths had first crossed.

Tonight again, as Jack opened the door and let her in, the rush of warmth surrounded her. It felt weird, since Phryne had never let herself get too used to people or places, but she already had her own spot on his couch and her blouse was hanging on the drying rack, spotless. Domesticity had its perks, apparently.

Jack's mouth curled up into a smile when he saw that she was still wearing his shirt, the collar now free of lipstick; he took her coat and bag to hang them, his brow furrowing a little in confusion, but said nothing. "I hope you're hungry," he said as he went back to the kitchen to check the oven. "I got us lasagnas and tiramisu from the Italian caterer you like. I'm not sure about the wine, though. I tried to remember the name of that French wine you had the other night, but - Phryne?"

Phryne wrapped her arms around him from behind, going on her tiptoes to rest her chin on his shoulder. "You're something else, Jack Robinson. I hope you know that." Jack only chuckled, and she pressed a kiss on his cheek, nuzzling his jaw. He tilted his face to hers and leaned down a bit, just enough for her not to strain her neck as she kissed him.

Jack laughed into the kiss; he did that a lot, Phryne noticed, and he was smiling and laughing more lately, too. He turned fully to face her, and she caught his hands and held them behind his back, pressing her full body against his as she deepened the kiss. "You - you're not gonna let me wine and dine you properly, are you now?" Jack panted in between kisses.

She shook her head, her nose rubbing against his. "Maybe later."

"Well, in that case..."

He released his hands from her hold as if it were so damn easy - it _was_ , and Phryne was more than slightly vexed - and grabbed under her thighs, hoisting her up in his arms just as easily. She linked her ankles behind his back and started working on the buttons of his shirt immediately, her fingers fumbling until it came open free, as Jack held her with one arm banded across her back, turning off the oven with his free hand. _Only him_ , Phryne thought, would still be able to _think_ right now.

He walked them to his bedroom, his mouth trailing a path of kisses down her neck and the exposed skin at her throat where her shirt, three buttons undone already by her own hand, dipped daringly low. Phryne moaned as he added tongue there, suckling the sensitive skin. "Off," she groaned, pawing at his shoulders.

"Off, then," he chuckled, and dropped her quite unceremoniously onto his bed. Phryne would have complained if the action didn't allow him to properly take his shirt off now, revealing his bare chest at last for her to explore. He followed her suit on the bed, hovering over her, resuming his task of peppering kisses down her sternum, his fingers making quick work of the last buttons of her shirt. His hands were warm against her skin as he pushed it aside, stroked her sides; firm and sure as they pulled the cups of her bra down and palmed her breasts before flicking his tongue around a nipple.

Phryne's back arched at the touch, her hips rocking against his, already desperate for friction, for more. She ran her hand aimlessly up and down his back while the other slid down his body, palming him at the front. Jack groaned as she rubbed her palm against his hardening cock through his pants, and redoubled his efforts. He teased at the underside of her breast, nipping softly there while his fingers wandered down, catching the button and the zipper of her jeans on their way. "Jack," Phryne gasped as he slipped his hand beneath the denim, stroking her lightly over her panties, just the rasp of knuckles instead of the deliberate, desperate touch she needed. "Don't tease."

He trailed his tongue up her breast to her nipple, giving it one last swirl before he let go with a pop and started his way down, his lips grazing her ribs, her navel and her hip bones. Phryne's hands went to her jeans, to push them down, but Jack stopped her, his hands circling her wrists. "Let me," he murmured huskily, his low rumble sending another surge of wetness between her thighs. Phryne rolled her eyes; as if she would do anything else but lift her hips to help him shove her jeans down her legs.

His thumbs hooked in the sides of her panties at the same time, pulling them down too, and the first touch of his fingers to her folds had her shivering, a full-bodied thrill as he brushed one finger along her slit, dragging it up to where she's wet and aching then back down to rub and slide and flick at her clit. Phryne bit back a moan, his name escaping her lips in a soft, torn plea. Jack looked up at her, eyes glazed over how responsive she was, before he gave her a slow blink, seeking permission with the kind of insubordination that she gave him back in the early days whenever he tried to rein her in - in vain, but now he was the one daring and teasing her, so Phryne pushed her hips up as she twined her fingers in his hair, a little incentive that Jack put to good use, his tongue darting out in hot, quick circles around her clit.

He ran a hand over the smooth, soft skin of her thigh, pushing it aside to spread her open and allow two of his fingers to slide in easily. A surprised moan escaped her at his quick dismissal of the slow ride to the top he usually favored for this relentless drive, his fingers crooking and stroking inside her while his mouth focused on the most sensitive part of her. His tongue drifted in soft, slow flicks at first, then pressed into flat, wide licks. " _Fuck_ , Jack," Phryne cursed, "Feels so good. So good." Phryne felt the heat coil tightly deep in her belly, her body starting to wrap and spasm around his fingers; her skin flushing as she brought her free hand to her chest, her fingers tightening around his locks. Jack gave in her urgency, pumping his fingers in and out of her as he released her clit from his mouth and came back up her body, kissing her hard and deep as his calloused thumb found her bundle of nerves with quick, rough movements. He rocked against her thigh and Phryne pulled back from his mouth, licking at her own lips at the feel of his hard cock pressing against her. Her hand fell from his hair and cupped his neck as she kissed him again, in charge this time, flicking her tongue to the roof of his mouth as it fell open for her. Her fingers fumbled at his belt, but the odd angle of Jack lying half on top and half beside her, his weight pressing her down into the mattress, kept her from getting his belt undone. Jack's fingers joined hers, and together they got his belt and pants open, and Phryne slipped her hand inside, her fingers wrapping around his cock at last.

"Phryne," he groaned her name brokenly, his lids closing at her touch. His head fell to her neck and his fingers stilled inside her, but Phryne didn't mind; the feel of him swelling in her hand combined with the sight of him, wrecked and messy and _hers_ , made her feel even hotter. She stroked his cock with light, gentle fingers as she started rocking against his hand. Jack let out this little stutter-gasp of pleasure against her neck, his tongue licking at the dip of her clavicle before he seemed to find renewed energy and control; he wrapped his arm around her, holding her close, and his thumb lashed at her clit, drawing tiny, fast circles, speeding her up to her release.

Phryne came with a shuddering gasp of his name, her fingers tightening around him as her orgasm washed over her. "Fuck, you're so beautiful," Jack murmured against her temple, pressing soft, light kisses there. His breath was hot and shaky against her skin, and his lips closed around her earlobe. "Love you like that, you look so good like that," he went on, nuzzling her cheek and her neck, his words and the earnestness behind them making her shiver over and over again.

At last the tremors faded, leaving her satisfied but not quite sated despite the languidness in her limbs and the mind-blowing orgasm Jack had just given her. He felt even bigger in her grip now, hard and hot and hers, and Phryne ran her hand through his messy locks, down his jaw, before she rested her palm against his chest. His heart beat furiously beneath her palm, same as hers, and Phryne leaned in, dropping a kiss there. Jack moaned, loud and beautiful, and she flicked her tongue over his nipple, making his hips arch off the mattress and rock against her hand furiously.

"Too many clothes," Phryne whined as she pushed him to his back and sat down, making quick work of discarding her shirt and bra while Jack did the same with his pants, pushing them down his hips and legs to scatter on the floor. Phryne didn't waste any more time swinging her leg over his lap to straddle him, and the curse he growled as she took him in hand again and leaned to whisper in his ear, "Fuck me now, Jack," was fouler than anything she'd ever heard her quiet, stoic inspector, say.

Jack grabbed at her hips, pushing her closer as he grazed his length against her core. He kissed her then, sloppy and messy and perfect, and Phryne moaned as he started rubbing himself against her, the head of his cock brushing past her hood and her clit with each movement. She started rocking with him, and his hands fell to her ass, kneading the flesh. Her nipples tightened in hard peaks against his chest, and her thighs quivered. "Condom, _now_ ," she urged him.

Jack pushed her off of him just a bit, steadying her with one arm as he bent to fish out a condom from his nightstand. Phryne stole it from him and rolled it on herself, and Jack's jaw clenched hard as she sank down on him. His eyes fluttered close and Phryne felt a surge of fondness for him in that moment; he looked so calm, so peaceful, while he was none, the restraint obvious on his features as he remained still for her. She slanted her mouth against his as she started to move, rocking her hips with a furious pace that Jack would normally try to slow down, but seemed to have nothing against tonight. He straightened, sitting up fully, and helped her rocking with his hands at her hips as his mouth fastened at her neck, her ear, her breast. Phryne could feel his abs ripple with the effort against her stomach as she pressed herself closer to find that perfect angle, so his pelvis would brush and rub against her clit, and she arched her neck back as she felt the pleasure build again, the heat of his hands all over her making her clench around him.

His hand curved around her ass, stroking gently before he gave her a light tap. Phryne was wet already but it got her positively drenched, and her walls contracted around his cock. Jack groaned. "You feel so good," he said as his head fell back against his pillows as the sensation overwhelmed him. His fingers slipped at her front and rubbed at the apex of her thighs; her clit pulsed and Phryne keened. His hand swatted her ass again and her head fell a little as she whimpered. "That's it," Jack cajoled, "you're almost there. You can do it, Phryne."

She didn't know if it was the rasp in his voice, or his fingers playing with her clit, or even the light sting of his hand at her ass, that did it; or perhaps it was just the way he spoke her name with such utter reverence in every syllable, but Phryne started shaking, her walls fluttering and contracting around him as she came.

Jack kept thrusting up through her orgasm, his rhythm faster now that he'd brought her there again. She kissed him hungrily, all teeth and tongue, and wrapped her arms around his neck tightly. Jack kept his hand against her sternum, just above her heart, his other arm banded across her back to press her close, and he moved, his thrusts deep and powerful. Phryne felt the hitch in his breathing as he panted against her mouth, his kisses growing more shallow the closer he got to his own release; his hand stroked absently along the slope of her spine, his fingers tangled in her short locks, and when she cooed his name, telling him to let go, he did.

Phryne kissed his cheek, his nose, his forehead; soft, feather-light kisses as he cooled down, his body going limp underneath hers. Jack rubbed his nose against hers, then touched his forehead to hers, his hand warm and gentle as it cupped the nape of her neck. "Feels like _you_ 're the one who wined and dined me, Miss Fisher."

Phryne laughed. She gave his lips a quick peck before she pulled away from him and sank back at his side, leaning her chin on his shoulder. "Well, I _am_ hungry now."

"Of course you are," he chuckled. She watched him as he got up to take care of the condom in the bathroom, then whistled her appreciation as he bent to grab his underwear, giving her a fine view of his backside. "I feel like Little Red Riding Hood right now," he fake-whined as he got semi-dressed. "I'll make us a tray?"

Phryne nodded, and he went back to the kitchen to prepare dinner. She laid in bed for a minute, smiling to herself at the mess they'd made, the sheets all rumpled up and their clothes scattered everywhere in Jack's bedroom. She grabbed his shirt - the one he'd been wearing today - and her panties, and Jack narrowed his eyes at her when he came back and saw her. "You're planning to steal _all_ my shirts, aren't you?" he asked as he handed her the bottle of wine. "No, don't even answer that. Can you open that up?"

She opened the bottle and filled the glasses he handed her while he set up the tray between them, two forks simply planted in the lasagna dish. It didn't look as fancy as she knew he would have made the effort to if he'd set the table for them, but she realized that she wouldn't trade it for any of the five-star restaurants she'd been to on countless of meaningless dates.

Meaningless dates had been fun, they really had, but nothing would ever be meaningless with Jack and _that_ could be fun, too - a new adventure. Phryne drew her knees to her and took a sip of her wine while she watched him all but devour his side of the dish. She _could_ do that, she thought to herself; she could solve mysteries with him all day and spend her nights solving the mystery of him and her.

Jack looked up at her, Bolognese sauce on his chin, his brows knitted in a concerned frown. "You're not eating?"

She shook her head. "Just enjoying the view for the moment," she said, then wiped her thumb over his chin before sucking it in her mouth.

Jack shrugged, then took a sip of his wine too. Then he jerked his head to the hallway leading to the living-room. "What's in the bag?"

"Toothbrush, perfume, lipstick, real soap," Phryne counted on her fingers, "a change of clothes -"

"Wait," Jack stopped her. "What do you mean by _real soap_?"

"Oh, honey," she gave him an indulgent pat on the cheek. "You men are clueless about soap. You just can't wash your face with the same soap you use for your hands, Jack. I mean..."

She didn't finish her sentence, and he didn't press her to. He kept eating, grinning around every mouthful, and perhaps it could be that simple, going from casually tearing at each other's clothes to casually slipping into an intimacy that she'd always been so skeptical about.

It wasn't like teaching the man how to take care of his skin would get her down the aisle any minute now, anyway. All was good.

She reached for her fork and started digging in before he could finish the whole dish by himself.

 

* * *

 

Her coffee spilled, the wave stopping short of staining the manila folder Jack was flicking through. He raised an eyebrow at her, and cocked his head to the side. "Phryne," he sighed, pushing the folder to a safer spot. "What did we say about breakfast and crime scenes?" He grabbed paper towels and a sponge and started on cleaning her mess up, while Phryne kept sipping at her remaining coffee. There was no need to let it go to waste, after all.

"Well," she said slowly, "I mean, to be completely precise, Detective Inspector Robinson, I think we need to clear up the fact that this is not a crime scene, and we don't have a rule about breakfast and paperwork, so -"

"Yet," Jack interrupted her. " _Yet_."

Phryne pouted. "If we were having breakfast at my place, there would be no rules. _And_ Dottie would be there with fresh muffins."

Jack looked up at her, his _don't-fuck-with-me_ face on rendered incredibly softer with his still sleepy eyes and tousled bed hair. "I'm not sure Collins would appreciate that."

"I'm not sure Hugh has a say in it, considering this is the twenty-first century and Dot can bake for me every morning if she so pleases."

He squeezed the sponge out in the sink, rinsed it, and cleaned the kitchen counter. "Point taken. Does this mean that this morning thing is gonna turn into a habit?" Jack asked softly.

"Sure," Phryne shrugged. "As long as you stop trying to steal my shirt, yeah."

"You mean the shirt you stole from me in the first place?" he asked, walking around the counter to face her. He bracketed his arms around her, hands on the counter, effectively trapping her. "If that's all it takes, then fine." He took the coffee cup from her hand and placed it on the counter, then leaned in for a kiss. "About that no-rule thing..."

Phryne licked her lips, then drew his bottom lip into her mouth. "Mmmh."

"Does that mean that, hypothetically speaking, of course, that I could do this?" He started unbuttoning her shirt, pressed a kiss at the base of her throat. "And just bring you back to bed if I wanted?"

Phryne leaned her elbows back against the counter, pretending to think about it. "I mean, that's a very interesting hypothesis," she conceded. "But you forget the premise: there would be no rules _if_ we were at _my_ apartment. And since we're not -"

He cut her in, kissing her, but the insistent buzzing of her phone interrupted them both. She pulled away reluctantly, recognizing Dot's ringtone. "Hello, darling," she answered, squirming a little on her stool as Jack started kissing down her neck. "Well, do tell. Mmmh. Aren't you a clever girl! I'll be sure to tell the inspector, and I'll be on my way to the station soon. Nice work, as usual." She ran her hand through the mop of Jack's hair, before pushing at his forehead so he could look up at her. "Dot and Hugh are already up and working, and they think they've found a new lead. We're definitely behind Mr. and Mrs. Collins on our race to the truth!"

Jack gave her a smile. "I'm happy that Collins is taking this investigation so seriously. It'll be good for him."

"Good for him?" Phryne said as she jumped off her stool. "I mean, of course it'll be good for him and that's amazing, but come on, Jack! If we go on like this we'll have to answer to Detective Inspector Collins before long!" She tugged at his hand, leading him to the bathroom. "Come on, let's get ready!"

He slowed her down, turning her around. "You know, we'll get faster if we share the shower," he said, resuming his work of unbuttoning her shirt.

This time around she did help him, though. "Fine, you're right," Phryne said, shrugging off his stolen shirt and shimming out of her underwear and sliding in the shower. Jack stared at her, his eyes travelling up and down her body, and she wiggled her finger at his face impatiently. "Come on, Jack!"

 

* * *

 

By the time they reached the station, Dot and Hugh had had time to make a powerpoint presentation with the new lead they'd come up with, transitions between the slides and all.

Jack blamed it on her soap and make-up routine, while Phryne argued that they wouldn't have been so late if he'd known to keep his hands to himself.

Hugh spilled his coffee over his laptop.

 

* * *

 

_the end_

 

 


End file.
